Fallen Angel
by funky pink high top
Summary: Sleeping with guilt, with unspoken words, and with someone you aren't supposed to. Starring Kate Sanders.
1. Prelude to a Mistake

A/N: PG-13 for a reason people. Be prepared for sexual content. There is also minor language plus mention of drugs and alcohol.  
  
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It's when your entire world crashes before your feet. It's when you cry with no reason. It's when all you need is the people that aren't there. It's hell, it's heaven, and it's not fair. But there's no escape. You'll sleep with it for eternity, until it soaks you into the ground with it.  
  
It's life.  
  
It was supposed to be special. That's what they all said, gazing at late nights of champagne and passion. There was supposed to be an endless night of nothing but pure moonlight and love. And when the pinkish fingers finally linger up to the sky, you're left with the touch, the feel of silky skin against your own. A girl had first times for everything, but this, by far, is supposed to be the special one, the one that sticks out, the one you never regret.  
  
But there I was, regretting.  
  
It was laughable, really. No one would ever expect it. Popular Kate Sanders meets some sort of sick joke sitcom, minus the laugh track and periodic corniness. It was blurred at the edges, like a faded flashback memory. And yet, it was the realest thing.  
  
If there's one thing I learned in this lifetime, it was the easiest way to make something no big deal is to act like it wasn't a big deal. That whole treat-someone-like-a-criminal-and-they-become-one, only modified for any situation. Smoking pot, no big deal. You weren't destroying your life, because you said you weren't. It was the kind of control people like me life for. Grabbing your destiny by the reigns.  
  
But this, this couldn't be played off as easily. My breath lingered in the back of my throat, my gift of gab suddenly plummeting. Was there anyway to sink into the ground and die right now without missing a moment?  
  
If only I could have my entire future packaged in a small carry-out box so as I tumble off the cliff of life, I could see it momentarily without experiencing it.  
  
It's wishes like that, that destroy people, eating them inside with the dead possibilities.  
  
My perception was so clear, lying there under the worn navy blue comforter, I wondered if I could just stay there forever, away from my audience.  
  
There was some famous Shakespeare quote about that in English. We analyzed it for days upon days. I, of course, was too busy passing notes with Claire about Danny's new bitchy girlfriend. But I got the general idea of people being frauds and just performing their parts for people to live up to society's standards, blah, blah, blah.  
  
We also talked about paradigms in English. You know, the way you see things. I always pictured a paradigm shift as this big, dramatic moment with blood spilling and tears falling. But just at that moment, I had one. It was soft and gentle, like a small wave brushing against you. You almost don't notice until it's gone, and then you're left with this new pair of eyes.  
  
Maybe I should have expected it. The night had gone unexpected already, why not throw in a new earth shattering factor?  
  
There's only so much I can take.  
  
A light clicking sound came clearer and I recognized it as typing.  
  
When I was younger, I would go to my father's office and lay on this big leather couch he had there, closing my eyes. I never knew what he did while I zoned out, but there was always a light tinkering of classical music, and then his strong hands, typing quietly as he could on his laptop. Sometimes I could feel his eyes on me, and I imagined him smiling at me, remembering how much he cherished me and how glad he was to have me.  
  
That was when I actually believed he loved me.  
  
I opened my eyes, eyelashes filtering my view. I saw the hunched figure at a computer of some sort. I imagined him telling his internet buddies about sleeping with the head cheerleader. I almost laughed at the thought, though my entire view had shifted from pensive to grim.  
  
Seeing him only confirmed it. I, Kate Sanders, queen bitch extraordinaire, had indeed slept with Larry Tudgeman.  
  
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A/N: Don't you want to be her? I'm continuing this with an explanation. I'm thinking four parts, but we never know where that crazy muse is taking me. 


	2. Lingering in Laundry Detergent

It was the kind of party everyone went to. There was no excuse for not going. Cliques were demolished and the losers and the blessed got high together, drinking in the night through misty waves of smoke. You were everybody's friend; there was no difference between you and your neighbor. Social status was in the back of our minds, yet in front of our eyes.  
  
I watched drunken jerks splash in the waves of aqua chlorine from the pavement, sighing and tapping my new heels. I had dragged my present boyfriend of three months, Eddie there, and he found the sight extremely amusing and decided to join it. Needless to say, I didn't.  
  
Eddie was more of an accessory than anything. As of three months ago, he is the star of the soccer team and not to mention a total hottie. He's not exactly an interesting person though, so it is more of a silent relationship.  
  
The truth was, his growing popularity was earning me major points. There were more envious looks, more flirtatious winks, more honor and respect thrown my way. I felt my popularity soar. It was looking like a good year.  
  
That meant, naturally, it was time to ruin it.  
  
"Kate, look at this!," Ethan said excitedly. I sighed and watched as he started performing tricks with his tongue for me. After our break up, Ethan and I had finally agreed to a mutual friendship. After all, beautiful people should stick together.  
  
"Ethan, will you PLEASE tell Eddie I'm WAITING for him with Courtney?," I threw him a glare, warning him of my impatience.  
  
"Sure, dog," He nodded knowingly and dashed off, most likely to be distracted by someone else's tongue. I sighed and made my way towards Courtney, a tall blonde with a yacht.  
  
"Oh my god, I LOVE that tank," Courtney gushed, talking to a freshmen for some reason. "It's so... pink!"  
  
"Uh, thanks," The freshmen stammered. Her brown hair was frizzy and unkempt, but I noted in satisfaction she had an excellent fashion sense.  
  
"Lauren is in Computer Club," Courtney nodded at me, sipping her beer. "She's agreed to help me with my modem thing or whatever." She patted Lauren's head.  
  
"Uh, yeah," I rolled my eyes. I didn't feel the need to hang out with lower classmen tonight. I didn't feel the need to hang out at all. I had spent the day picking out bikinis for spring break and had already determined I had about an inch to take off my waist.  
  
"Katie," Courtney said suddenly, "What do you say you, Lauren, and I ditch this party and go have a girl's night? Everyone's so lame here." She added an eye roll.  
  
"Uh, no thanks," I rolled my eyes as well. Courtney's girl's nights usually involved sitting around listening to her describe her sexual experiences in precise detail as you clutched a flute of her parent's cheap champagne. She gave me a blank stare, but I didn't give in.  
  
"Whatever," She tossed her hair and hooked arms with Lauren. "Come on, Lauren, let's find someone else." They stormed off, Lauren looking back at me cautiously. I restrained my need to shout "Lesbians!" after them and looked for someone to talk to.  
  
"Where the hell is Eddie?," I muttered under my breath, clenching my pearly whites as I headed towards the pool again. A lace trim of light reflected onto me legs from the pool. The pavement was splashed with water, but it had appeared the drunks had moved onto sexually harassing people and whatnot. I noted a couple had replaced them and they were now passionately making out. Gag me.  
  
I had given up on considering anything romantic. It was all lust and it was all good. There was no need to tamper with a relationship with this love thing.  
  
I gazed around the perfectly manicured lawn, but there was nothing but the occasional tacky pink flamingo. I sighed and vaguely listened to the music booming from inside. Maybe I SHOULD'VE gone with Courtney. I bit my lip, wondering if I would've preferred a in depth description of Luke's naked body to a boring night alone.  
  
Most of the time, I paused where I am and picture myself somewhere else, like I'm not where I was destined to be.  
  
I watched the couple again. They were both fully clothed, but it didn't look like it was going to stay that way. My body tensed suddenly as I saw the guy's face. It was Eddie.  
  
Holy crap. My jaw dropped slightly. The girl let out a nasally giggle and I'd had enough. I glanced around, grabbed a nearby tennis ball, and threw it at them. It missed by a couple feet, naturally, but they noticed the splash and turns to me. Their lips were pink and their hands were red, unable to escape with a lame excuse.  
  
"Ass hole," I snarled, then stomped away with what was left of my dignity. This was definitely too much. Don't cry, don't cry... I tried to walk through the house as normal as possible, my head high. People glanced and nodded, waved and smiled, and cast worried looks at me, but I gave up on trying to respond. I dashed into the first door I saw and shut it, sobbing.  
  
It wasn't so much I cared about Eddie. It was more the rumors that would fly. The social damage and all... my breath grew shrill and hiccup-y and the tears flowed. I turned around to see a dryer and washer... with Tudgeman on top.  
  
"Jesus Christ!," I exclaimed, grabbed my heart. "God, Tudgeman, give a girl some warning?" I teetered towards him, trying to hide my tears.  
  
"What's wrong?," He questioned, cocking his head. He was sitting on top of the washer, flipping through some gamer magazine. I wiped furiously at my face and hesitated.  
  
"What are you doing here?," I questioned, avoiding answering his question.  
  
"Got bored," He shrugged, "Figured this was a quiet enough place to read. I mean, when Kate Sanders isn't bursting in, mascara running." My hand drew to my face at this comment, checking for remainders of mascara flecks. "Now, what are YOU doing here?"  
  
"Eddie," I said shortly. I didn't think it needed explanation, as he nodded knowingly. I leaned against the dryer. "What the hell are you reading?"  
  
"And article about this new Star Wars game," He said absentmindedly, showing me the page. "Empire Divided. It's like you have your own Star Wars Saga. I hear the detail you can add to your character is amazing. Like how far his chin sticks out and the thickness in his eyebrows and the color of the hair on his arm." He nodded. "Pretty far out."  
  
"Yeah," I replied, suddenly in the need of conversation. "Yeah, it is." He looked at me, laughing, and closed it.  
  
"Sorry, I get... passionate about it," He swallowed. "So, um, how are you?" I looked at him. "Okay, yeah. But besides horrible, how are things in life?"  
  
"Normal, I guess," I shrugged. "Perfect hair, perfect teeth, perfect life."  
  
"No, I mean real life." I stared at him.  
  
"What are you talking about?"  
  
"I mean, life outside your image," He said, staring at me. His gaze felt like hot coals and I looked away, tucking a lock of hair behind my ear.  
  
"Fine," I said hurriedly. "Everything's fine."  
  
"You sure?," He touched my arm and I jumped, realizing what I was DOING.  
  
"Stay in line, Tudgeman," I snapped, pulling my arm away. "I'm not suddenly your friend or anything."  
  
"All right then."  
  
"Yes."  
  
"But I still say you're masking yourself," He said carefully, putting his magazine down.  
  
"Do you see a mask on my face? Am I trick-or-treater?," I said irritated.  
  
"You're not REAL, Kate," He said quietly. "You hide behind your shopping bags and your attitude when in reality you're less of a Leia and more of a Padme."  
  
"If I ever knew what that meant, I still wouldn't care," I replied. "Is this your idea of small talk or have you just saved this for when we were locked in a laundry room together?" I tried to ignore the fact that sounded fairly risqué.  
  
"It has just always bothered me, that's all," He shrugged. "I mean, don't you ever have emotions?"  
  
"What do you mean?," I raised my eyebrow.  
  
"In school, you just walk around, flipping your hair and taking advantage of any power you obtain. But you never feel anything," He smiled slightly. "To tell you the truth, I was kind of feeling for the Kate Sanders who burst through the door just now."  
  
"If that was just some sort of pick-up line, I'm going to hurt you," I threatened.  
  
"With what? The box of laundry detergent?," He teased. It was a side of Tudgeman I had never seen. Well, never paid attention to anyway.  
  
"Yeah, sure," I said, picking it up and hitting him in the head. We both laughed as some of the powder floated in the air. I sat on the dryer and watched it linger, spreading around like a disease. Our breath settled into a comfortable silence, one that seemed to be between two people who knew each other. The thought almost scared me, like someone peered into my soul. Someone like Tudgeman.  
  
The powder started to settle onto us, clinging to our arms. They were touching, I realized, and I pulled back. We were catching the disease, I thought idly, the powdery sweet smell filling my nose.  
  
Then I'm not sure what happened. I was looking at him and he was looking at me and suddenly my mask came off. My lips met his and I couldn't see myself being anywhere else at that moment. I was frozen in time, warm lips on my glossy cold ones. In romance novels, this is the time where all thoughts flee from your mind, but thoughts seemed to flee TO mind. I thought about Eddie and Star Wars and floating laundry detergent and plastic smiles and fake identities. I thought about what this meant and how hot it felt and how weird it was. But I never pulled away.  
  
Usually my problem is I pull away too quickly. I don't give first chances, let alone seconds. But this time, I couldn't. It was as if I owed myself this, something new and different and a little strange.  
  
The rest is a little hazy. I remember his mother's station wagon and wall-to-wall shaggy blue carpeting and shelves and shelves of Lord of the Rings memorabilia. There were hands and hair and skin blending together. And there was a shadow of wrong blinded by a light of right. And then there was nothing coated in something.  
  
But no regrets. Never any regrets.  
  
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A/N: Okay my Secluded-and-Obscured-Funky's-Alternate-Universe-of-Lizzie- McGuire followers, even THIS still follows my basic plotline. Weird, no? Thanks for the reviews, specific thanks following the completion of this. 


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